15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Milo
I take the heavy stationery in my hand, rubbing it with my thumb and forefinger, trying to figure out what to say. I’ve abandoned my work in progress for Turnip, Zehma of the Night Loch. After painfully eking out five hundred words, I know when to call it a day.
And now, what was so fun before, writing to Rose, has become an impossible task.
I’m not gonna lie. I’m surprised she has a kid.
It’s a big deal.
There’s nothing wrong with it, and in a fairytale land in which she and I are together, it’s actually kind of a cool thought. I love kids. My niece Navie means the world to me. I’m excited that Sophie and Oliver and Henry and Quinn are expecting. They’ve all settled down. They’ve all found love, and I want the same, too.
I still have a lot to learn. But the thought of Rose being a mom isn’t a problem, and I want to convey that to her.
We’re not dating, and we won’t be in the near future, either. We’re just friends, so what would a friend say in this situation? I pace around the penthouse suite, my thoughts going every which way.
I can do the friends-only thing. If that’s the only possibility with her right now, I have to be okay with that. But how do I convey that I see her as more than that without crossing a boundary?
I sit down, stop agonizing over it, and try to begin.
Dear Rose,
I’ve never told you this, but your mouth is like a dewy rosebud: lush and inviting.
I snarl out a groan, wad the paper up and throw it in the waste basket. I grab another paper and try again.
Dear Rose,
Thinking about Blaine makes me want to break his jawbone and his nose.
Shaking my head, I throw that one in the trash, too, and start again.
Dear Rose,
Want to come to a writer’s conference in Texas with me this fall? We could visit the stockyards and the Alamo and the Silos and meet Chip and Joanna, if that’s your thing. Doesn’t matter. Because we’d be together and that’s all I care about.
I’m tempted to gouge my eyes out; this is so bad. I destroy the evidence of that one and take a deep breath, attempting to blow out all the nonsense from my brain.
Hey Rose,
You mentioned the kiss we shared six months ago. And I want to make it clear that kissing someone when I first meet them, I’ve never done that. I know guys like me, fresh out of college, from a family with means, have a reputation, but believe it or not, I’ve never done that.
Why am I trying to defend myself?
I don’t know why I’m writing all this out. But that kiss? It’s haunted my dreams—in all the best ways—ever since. And it wasn’t the fact that I was in the hospital contemplating the preciousness of life—I wasn’t, haha—it was the fact that it was you.
Look. You being a mother? It’s cool. It doesn’t change how I feel.
And I’ll still respect your wishes to not get involved. I’m sure being a parent is a complication I can’t even begin to understand.
When there’s a knock at the door, I shove the paper, my pen, and the wax and seal in the desk drawer and go to open the door. Good. Maybe stepping away from letter writing is a good idea. I can sense I’m getting closer, but I probably have a few more drafts to go before I’d even consider giving it to her.
I open the door. “Sebastian? Hey. You’re working late.”
He’s frowning—no surprise there. He throws a glance over his shoulder. “No time for chit chat. Hey, um. You’re getting a roommate.” He blows past me, around the corner, to the front room of the suite, shaking his head. “Has housekeeping not been coming?”
“I told them to only come once a week. No use wasting their time on me.”
“This is my suite, Milo. I want it kept clean.”
“It is.” I glance at the microwavable meal carton on the counter and the stacks of books on the coffee table and entertainment center. “It’s not that bad. You caught me off guard, that’s all.”
“This carpet needs to be vacuumed. And the glass doors need to be cleaned.” He picks up the carton on the counter, his brows raised in a question as he stares at me before throwing it in the garbage can.
He used to live here in this suite before building his house on top of the mountain, the house that he now lives in with his wife, Elianna, and their dog, Destiny’s Child. His office is right next door to this suite, so I get his concern, but really? It’s fine.
“It’s not that bad,” I say again. “But I’ll tidy up before my new roommate gets here.” A groan escapes me. “Incidentally, who is my new roommate?”
And does this mean this person gets the bedroom and I’m sleeping on the couch? As the youngest in the family, I got used to that as a kid.
“I’m calling housekeeping in the morning and having them do a deep clean.” Sebastian kneads his forehead. “I don’t even want to go in the bathroom.”
I rush to grab a sweatshirt I’d discarded on a chair. “The bathroom is fine. Better than fine!”
“Benson’s here.” Sebastian’s look is steely as he places his hands on the kitchen island, his shoulders slouching. “He’s going to be working for our father, and he hasn’t had a chance to find a place in Denver. So, for the time being, he’s going to be driving back and forth.”
There are so many thoughts going through my head. “I just saw Dad the other day. He didn’t mention this.”
“I didn’t ask much about Dad. But he’s got a job lined up for Benson. They’re trying it out. Benson didn’t exactly feel comfortable staying at Mom and Dad’s, and I don’t blame him.”
“Not to sound rude or anything, but is there another room around here he can stay in? You have like a hundred of them.”
“Those are for paying guests, Milo. Besides, the couch pulls out to a bed and the suite’s plenty big enough for the two of you. It will only be for a few days. You’ll be fine.”
“So, does he seem . . . distraught or something? Sounds like this was last-minute. When do you expect him?”
“He’s here already, Milo. He’s just getting his stuff out of his car.”
Frustration broils in my gut, but I manage to check myself. Sebastian’s allowing me to stay here out of the kindness of his heart. I do pay him some, but not at all what a suite like this is worth. And I guess now is as good a time as any to get to know Benson better.
But my evenings for writing just got that much more complicated because no one in my family knows I write. No one in my life knows. The online community who reads my serial, Zehma of the Night Loch, doesn’t know that Thaddeus Blackthorn and Milo Tate are one and the same.
There’s a knock at the door. “He’s here.” Sebastian smirks at me. “Play nice, okay?”
“ You’re telling me to play nice? That’s something else.”
I follow him to the entryway, and he glowers at me before opening the door. Benson’s face is apologetic. “Hey. Thanks again. And thanks, Milo, for sharing your space with me for a few days. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s good for him,” Sebastian says with a sideways glance in my direction. “There should be some room in this closet for your stuff.” He motions to the narrow door near the front entrance. “For now, though, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.” Benson puts his two suitcases, a garment bag, and a crossbody bag in the closet and then sinks down into the sofa opposite Sebastian and me.
He looks so much like our father, it’s a little unsettling. He looks exactly like our dad looked when I was younger, with the same clear, brown eyes, fringed with dark lashes and eyebrows. The divot in his chin. The same whirls in the front of his thick mahogany hair.
“So, you’re here to do some work for Dad, huh?” I ask. “In engineering?”
“I’m a computer engineer. I was dealing with automation, machine learning, and AI in my former job, so our . . . dad . . . wanted me to help him with some of those things. Foundations Financial needs a bit of an upgrade.” Benson clears his throat. I know I’m not imagining the awkwardness he feels in calling Thomas Tate “our dad.” It’s so strange.
Sebastian’s jaw tightens. “Yes, yes it does. Are you . . . thinking of staying with Foundations long-term? Like, officially moving from Seattle to Denver?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My kids are still in Seattle with their mother, so being this far away from them long-term isn’t . . . it isn’t a possibility. So, we’ll see.”
I want to ask more about his kids. I barely know anything, even though, technically, I’m their uncle. Or half-uncle? Is that even a thing?
“I’ll send Drake up with some food for you, Benson.” He points to me. “Don’t let Milo eat it all. He’s still got the whole starving-college-student stomach, you know?”
“Hey!”
Benson only smiles. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not too hungry.”
“Well, this way I can make sure Milo gets fed without it being all about getting Milo fed, you know? So, yeah. I insist.” Sebastian stands. He shifts his weight from one side to the other, fidgeting with his hands. “Please make yourself comfortable here. And sorry about the mess. Housekeeping will be coming in the morning, but my staff is limited this time of night. I will send up some towels, though. Do you need anything else?”
It’s what Sebastian does—deferring to the amenities. Running a hospitality company, he’s learned some workarounds for his normally standoffish nature. If he makes it about the amenities, he can get through the painful shyness he fights so hard to hide.
“I’m more than good. Thank you.” Benson’s gaze is serious. When Sebastian leaves, Benson turns to me.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about this, Milo. To crash your pad like this.”
“It’s not my pad. It’s Sebastian’s. I crashed it a while ago.” I lift a shoulder. I’m unprepared for this. But I’m not going to be a jerk about it.
“Still. You weren’t expecting me, and—”
He’s so tentative, so worried about putting me out. I want Benson to feel like he’s a part of things. It would be cool if, eventually, it were that easy. I just want all of us to get along.
“You’re my brother,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I want you to come?”
Benson blinks rapidly. “I appreciate it.” He hesitates. “Did you know the Mavericks-Suns game was tied with eight minutes left? Not sure what’s happening at this point.”
Sports. I can do sports.
I grin. “I’ll pull it up on the big screen.”
There. We can ease into sharing the same space by using the great equalizer: the magical world of sports. I can do that.
But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about Rose’s letter sitting in the desk drawer. And before I go to bed, I slip it from the drawer and take it into my room with me. I’ve got to figure out how to finish it. There’s a lot that needs to be said. And that can’t wait any longer. I owe it to her to get these latest developments out there between us.
After the line that says: I’m sure being a parent is a complication I can’t even begin to understand, I continue on, hoping she’ll understand how much I like her without crossing any lines.
If you change your mind about going on a date with me, I’ll be here. In the meantime, I’ll look forward to any and all letters you’re able to write. And to running into you around here on occasion. Hopefully, I won’t run into your cleaning cart again, but I’m not making any promises.
Milo Knickknack Tate